


Heaven, Hell, and Peanut Butter Ganache

by SerotoninUp



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Bakery and Coffee Shop, Cake, Flashbacks, Gen, Inaccurate Catholicism, Light Angst, Lucifer (TV) Season/Series 05 Part 1, Merry Michaelmas 2020, Pastry-Based Revelations, Word Count: Make A Wish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26708560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerotoninUp/pseuds/SerotoninUp
Summary: The archangel Michael walks into a coffee shop, where he learns something new about humanity.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 74





	Heaven, Hell, and Peanut Butter Ganache

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Russian_Avenger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Russian_Avenger/gifts).



> I know this is not an accurate portrayal of the feast day for Saint Michael or Catholicism in general, but I just _really_ wanted to write about the archangel Michael wandering into a coffee shop and learning via cake that humans have a special day just for him.

Of course he gets caught in the rain.

Michael glares at the heavy gray clouds blanketing the sky. He spent days lying low in a run-down hotel room, watching the sunlight stream in through the single small window, and when he finally ventures out into the city, the heavens decide to open up and release a deluge to rival Noah’s flood. How ironic.

As he walks, he tugs his coat collar up a bit higher, trying and failing to keep the rain off his turtleneck. None of the shops on this street look particularly appealing, crammed full of too many loud, irritating humans and their constantly-ringing electronics. He passes an alley and casts a disinterested glance down its length, expecting to see nothing more than a few dumpsters and maybe some dead rats.

But surprisingly, the alley is clean, the ground paved with neat rectangular bricks, and at the far end sits a small brick storefront, large windows lit warmly from within. Above the door, metal letters lined with old-fashioned light bulbs spell out the shop name: Victory Coffee.

Michael impulsively turns toward the shop. Plush chairs arranged around small, cozy tables beckon through the windows. A sign hanging from the door handle proclaims the store OPEN, but he sees no customers inside.

Perfect.

A bell jingles as Michael opens the door. He wipes his feet on the mat just inside the entrance, rainwater dripping off his coat and running in little rivulets through his hair. His damp turtleneck clings to his skin.

To his left is a counter, with cash registers and a dessert display and various machines for making drinks. A large chalkboard on the wall displays the shop’s menu, each item written in bold colors with a careful hand.

A young woman with long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail pops out from an open door behind the counter. She waves a gloved hand at him, soap bubbles sliding across the yellow rubber.

“Hi!” she calls out. “I’ll be right with you.”

Michael nods and crouches in front of the display case to read the labels on the various dessert offerings. Cheesecake. Lemon bars. _Pain au chocolat._ Heaven and Hell cake.

He frowns at the last one and stands up, just as the barista reappears.

“Hey there! What can I get for you?” she asks, far too cheerful for such a miserable day. Her cheeks dimple prettily as she smiles at him, and Michael glances down at her name tag. _AMELIA._

“What’s in the Heaven and Hell cake?” he asks.

Somehow, her smile brightens even more. “Oh, it’s delicious! It’s layers of angel food cake, devil’s food cake, and peanut butter ganache. We make it special around this time every year, for Michaelmas.”

He blinks at her. “Michaelmas?”

She nods and lifts her hands, pointing in opposite directions. “There are two huge Catholic churches within a couple blocks of here, so we bake themed cakes for feast days.”

“But what is Michaelmas?” he asks. Over the past thousands of years, human holy days and traditions have changed and evolved far too much for Michael to keep track of them all. He only knows that a decent percentage of the human population celebrates his half-brother’s birthday, and even then, they’ve managed to get the date completely wrong.

“Not Catholic, then?” She laughs, but it’s a friendly sound, of someone actually enjoying his company. “Me neither. Anyway, Michaelmas is the celebration of the Archangel Michael’s triumph over Satan.”

The world tilts sideways a little bit, and Michael leans against the countertop, gripping the edge to keep himself steady. “What?”

Her brow furrows, blue eyes shining with gentle concern. “Are you okay, sir?”

“I…” Michael’s thoughts race out of control, memories flashing past his mind’s eye.

His Father, casting judgment on Samael, commanding Michael to raise his sword against his twin.

The righteous shine of his blade as it swung, and Sam’s horrified cry as the sword struck true.

Sam, burning like a dying star, falling from Heaven and swallowed up by the darkness.

His siblings, praising his victory over the Adversary while looking at him sidelong, wondering which of them his Father might command him to strike down next.

Sam’s blood, that would not wipe clean from his sword no matter how many of his own feathers he ripped out and scrubbed across the blade.

“Hey.” The barista’s voice brings him back to the present. “You should sit down. Do you want some water?”

Michael stumbles to the closest chair, bumping his hip against the table as he collapses into the too-soft cushions. He stares, unseeing, out the window.

“Yes, please,” he mutters, his voice hoarse.

A minute passes, and then a glass of water clinks onto the table. He looks up at the barista. She smiles down at him.

“You just sit and take as long as you need,” she says. “Can I get you anything else?”

Michael can’t remember the last time someone showed him kindness for its own sake. A strange, nebulous emotion weighs heavy in his chest.

“A small black coffee,” he says finally. “And… a slice of the cake, please.”

She grins and gives his shoulder a reassuring pat. “Tempting, isn’t it? You’re going to love it, I promise. I’ll have that right out for you.”

She walks away; Michael sips his water and watches the rain streak down the window.

_The celebration of the Archangel Michael’s triumph over Satan._

It had been the right thing to do. Sam had gone too far with his dangerous ideas of free will. Angels living without Father’s rule? Heaven would have fallen into chaos. Michael had merely been the instrument of God’s will, but the Host had learned to fear him that day.

Fear him... and hate him.

And while he spent millennia in Heaven suffering his siblings’ loathing and distrust, here on Earth humanity feasted in his honor and praised him for delivering them from evil.

Michael’s hand tightens around his water glass.

The barista returns, delivering his coffee and a generous slice of Heaven and Hell. “It’s on the house,” she says as she sets his plate and cup in front of him.

“Why?”

She shrugs, her smile soft and understanding. “You look like you’ve had a rough day.”

He smirks at that; a rough eternity would be more accurate. “Yeah, well. Thanks.”

She leaves him to enjoy his coffee and dessert. Michael slides his fork through the layers of cake and takes a bite. The flavors of sweet vanilla, rich chocolate, and creamy peanut butter burst across his tongue; they taste of victory, of celebration, of vindication.

Amelia was right. The cake _is_ delicious.


End file.
